


Running Wild

by Arubi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:03:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arubi/pseuds/Arubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has been DE-aged by a witch, he remembers everything. But now he's just fourteen, and a fourteen year old boy cannot hold up with the loss of his entire family, the guilt, the pack and all that comes along. </p><p>Fortunately Stiles reluctantly decides to help him through it and to show him how to be carefree again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU prompt inspired me and this happened. I'm not very experienced so this might be a big mistake.. but yeah. I'm giving it a try, and maybe if people show interest ill decide to expand it further.
> 
> Any kind of criticism is always very welcome.
> 
> Take care people~
> 
> x
> 
> -Arubi

When it happens, Stiles kind of freaks out a little. Okay. A lot. But who can blame him for hyperventilating when he sees a young version of Derek sitting on a chair, pouting like a child would when they aren’t given sweets on their birthday, in Deaton’s clinic?

“Derek…? Is that, is that you?” He’s almost squealing and his voice is an octave higher by the time he finishes his sentence.

Derek scowls at him, and in any other circumstances Stiles would be scared but right now a barely fourteen year old teenage boy is _scowling_ at him. He giggles.

“Stiles, I need to talk to you, please follow me” Deaton is all serious and seriously not appreciating Derek de-aged/rejuvenated/regenerated… whatever.

“Did you see him?! He’s been- he’s been!” Stiles can’t find the right word.

“He has been de-aged Stiles.” Deaton sighs.

“How did that happen?” He asks, curiosity brimming off him.

“From what he told me, he and Isaac chased down a witch who was too close to the territory and it turned messy, I think the enchantment was meant to do something else, it knocked down and weakened Isaac temporarily like any other unfinished spell does, but in Derek's case, something went very wrong. This could be very serious Stiles”

“What could be so serious about Derek looking younger?”

“Stiles, he doesn’t just look younger, he is younger, not just physically, but also psychologically”

“But he remembers me, his scowl confirmed that already” Stiles protests.

“And that’s the problem, his mind is going to react like that of a boy who is inexperienced and needs his family, the fact that his entire family died in such a terrific way already damaged his psyche a long time ago, but now that his psychological traits have reverted to that of a fourteen old boy he won’t be able to control such trauma, the emotions, or the guilt – he’s going to be wreck, he’s going to be overwhelmed, and you need to help him”

“Why would I need to help him?”

“Scott really isn’t the best one to deal with anything that has to do with the brain, Stiles, and Derek will refuse to show himself like this in front of his pack, not when he’s this vulnerable”

“Well shouldn’t you help him? You’re better at this than I am” Stiles tries to shrug the responsibility off, maybe if they wait it out Derek will become old and sour again, and they will live happily ever after. Yes, definitely.

“Stiles, I need to work on a way I can break the spell, or whatever it is that is affecting him, meanwhile I need you to help him, someone closer to his age and who can understand him better than anyone.”

“Why would I…?” Stiles trails off and realization dawns on him, his _mother_.

“Besides, you have been working with me for months now, you should have learned more than enough.”

Stiles has been learning, he has spent the last three months going through all the books Deaton supplied to him, learning bit by bit about everything that has to do with the supernatural. It fascinated him, first of all it was much more _cool_ than world of war craft, or dungeon wars – which really, that should make a statement by itself, and second; he has been working on more tricks like the one where he extended the mountain ash to trap Jackson in the club.

“Fine…”

They return to the room to see a teary eyed Derek.

“Derek?” Stiles asks, carefully, this is so beyond weird.

“What?” Derek grits out, teeth now fangs. His eyes flash a bright red for an instant and he blinks repeatedly, shrugging himself until they are back to being dark and grey and green.

“You should go, Derek, Stiles will take care of you until we figure this out” Deaton speaks, calm as ever. Stiles thinks it’s kind of freaky.

“I do not need his help, I’ll just go home” Shit, did Derek hear Stiles being reluctant on helping him?

“Okay stop there sour wolf… cub” He giggles slightly before continuing. “You’re coming with me; no way am I letting you go to that wreck of a house you refuse to rebuild”

And that sets Derek off, he roars and for the first time it is not annoyance or intimidation, this time its hurt and anger.

“Stiles” Deaton begins, and maybe this time he’s not so calm.

“What?” He gets stared at for a couple of seconds before he sighs dramatically and sets off running after Derek.

* * *

 

It takes him five minutes to figure out where Derek went, and another twenty to arrive there. Stiles arrives and when he gets out of his Jeep he looks at Derek, who is standing in-front of what used to be his home, shoulder slumped, broken and beaten down, like it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

And suddenly Stiles realizes that yes, this is the first time the fourteen year old Derek is feeling the rush of emotions old Derek felt when he looked at his burnt down family.

It dazes him a little, fills him with sorrow and pity he thought he couldn’t feel for the man. But now that man is a boy, a broken boy who lost everyone he had ever loved in the most horrible way one could think of, and the one who he did not lose, was the one who killed them.

A young boy, a broken house, fallen leaves on the ground, branches, twigs and shattered logs spread out everywhere and a heavy moist which laid heavy and thick in the air.

“Derek, come here” His voice is not mocking, it’s soft and it’s an imitation of the voice he wanted to hear when he lost his mum, a voice who did not judge, who did not looked down on him, but a voice who was a companion, a voice as broken as his, that was the only kind of voice which made Stiles feel like he wasn’t completely alone.

He walks to Derek, wraps an arm around his shoulder and is about to guide him to the jeep when he notices Derek isn’t moving, or uttering a word – not that he ever uttered many, but this is different.  Stiles knows he is trying to stop himself from breaking down, and maybe twenty seven year old Derek might have been able to suppress everything in, but this Derek can’t.

When Derek stops crying, they both exhale a long thick breath and get into the jeep.

“Where are you taking me?” He asks Stiles after some minutes of somewhat comfortable silence.

“To eat, cub”

“Don’t call me that” Derek tries to scowl at him but Stiles just raises an eyebrow, it really isn’t working anymore at this point.

When Derek looks out from the window and into the roadside, where the woods begin, and smiles as the constant breeze of the wind hits his face, Stiles smiles a little as well, he can picture Derek’s past better now, he probably was a free bird when he was young, always running in the woods, playing every chance he got, carefree and innocent.

But it only takes a couple of minutes before Derek’s head is back in and he’s as silent and serious as ever, looking at his empty hands like he’s in a constant state of shock. It’s almost like he’s trying to constantly repress the child that he became.

* * *

 

They’re at the diner where his dad used to take him and Derek is in a profuse and deadly fight with his steak, trying to cut a piece, he’s red with embarrassment and he doesn’t even know Stiles did see him trying to hide the fact that the last piece of meat he tried to cut ended up flying to the nearby table.

“Stiles, quit staring at me” He mutters under his breath. And really, Stiles should stop staring at him, but he just can’t. It’s a young Derek for god sake, and Stiles is almost jealous at how Derek doesn’t seem to have an awkward stage, he’s just as beautiful as his old self is, well at-least physically…

He pauses his train of thoughts when he notices Derek glowering at him.

“I’d like to! Besides, all you do is stare at people. You’re like, Creepy McCreeperson. No scratch that, you’re Wolfy McCreeperson. Point is, you really shouldn’t tell me not to stare.   
  
Derek just sighs and dives into his food again, annoyed.  
  
“Derek?” Stiles asks after a little while.  
  
“What.” He’s not even impressed.  
  
“I’m feeling the urge to pinch your cheek”  
  
“ You better fight that urge, or I’ll rip your hand off. Wit-“  
  
“With your teeth. Yes, I know. You should really consider the possibility of coming up with new threats, you know. This one is getting old, plus, you do remember you’re a boy and glowering just makes you cute - in a creepy way of course”  
  
He adds when Derek’s expression seems to be that of contemplating murder.

“C’mon, just a little pinch. You won’t even feel it.”

“Stiles.”

“Stop growling at me and be the sweet, little cub I know you are.”  
  
“ I am not a cub! I am the Alph-“  
  
“Oh my God, you’re so cute, Sour cub.” Stiles is off the seat and Derek is staring at him in mock horror, face flushed. Instead of pinching him, Stiles decides to take his plate and starts cutting his meat in smaller, edible pieces, because really, the guy is hopeless when it comes to any form of utensils which aren’t claws.

Stiles gives him back the plate after a minute and Derek is staring, flushed and somewhat still fuming before he decides to give into his by now frustrated hunger and eat.

Stiles sighs, young Derek really is kind of cute.


	2. A closer look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of descriptions in regards to Derek's behavior are more significant than in Chapter 1 because Stiles is taking a closer look at Derek.
> 
> Revised by the wonderful Aimy ( Ao3: Stilinsky ) http://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinksy
> 
> Take care
> 
> x
> 
> Arubi
> 
> ~

"Stiles, if the reason you woke me up isn't a matter of life and death, I will come and flay you-" Her shrieking voice forced him to hold the phone a couple of inches away from his ears.

"Lydia, I need you to go shopping for me." Stiles can't believe he's asking this of her. Usually it's the other way round; her dragging his ass off to buy new clothes. During the past three months they had become closer, and one of the inevitable and slightly exhausting facts of being Lydia's close friend is the imperative need to go shopping with her at least once every month.

It's Lydia's version of the full moon. It's necessary, and cannot be avoided.

"Stiles, do you have a date? Because that black t-shirt makes you look so-" 

"No, Lydia, it's not for me, not exactly... it's for Derek" He glances towards the sleeping cub, hidden under the covers of Stiles' bed. He’d been taking down notes of everything young Derek might need and only remembered that clothes might be an issue at one in the morning. Stiles did notice, however, how Derek’s breathing was stuttering and how he sometimes gasped for air, how he kept muttering and whining and how he held himself tight, trying to stop himself shaking.

"Derek? He finally decided to grow out of his gothic stage?" Lydia asks with renewed interest, because to her, clothes are matters of life and death.

"No... err... he might have turned into a fourteen year old kid... and he's still wearing his now oversized jacket and a pair of jeans Deaton lent him. And trust me, you do not want to see those jeans; they reek"

They were silent down the phone lines for a while.

"I don't have time for this. I'll call you." She sighs, hangs up and turns back to Jackson, who's just about to wake up until she cuddles into him and they doze off again.

* * *

"Stiles! Stiles!" The voice is familiar, yet somewhat strange and Stiles can't quite figure whose it is. When he opens his eyes he realizes he's still in his clothes and not in his bed, which meant he probably slept on his desk. 

"Derek?" He says after a few minutes spent processing the world of the living, and remembering all that happened yesterday.

"Wake up!" Derek shakes him, impatient.  

"Okay what the hell do you want?" Stiles glowers at him.  
  
"Your dad is knocking on the door!" And that has Stiles jerking up and panicking. Stiles is covered in a pile of old books and hundreds of papers, he wonders absently why he isn’t on his computer desk as usual.

"Okay, hide in the wardrobe, fast!" He says, his brain still trying to function without his regular cup of morning coffee.

Stiles goes to open the door and after a ridiculously uncomfortable conversation with his father about the voices in his room again, he’s let off the hook, exhaling in relief.

Derek comes out of the wardrobe, hair disheveled and wearing only black briefs. 

"That was close! You can go back to bed until I get you some clothes and then we can go out."  
  
It takes less than five minutes before Lydia storms into his room like a woman on a mission.

"So what the holy hell was last night-" She halts when she sees Derek peeking from under the bed's sheets and turns to Stiles, eyes narrowed.

"Lydia, meet young Derek" He goes for nonchalant, mostly because his mind is coming blank when it comes to how the hell can he explain this to her.

Within two hours, Derek is cocooned in scarves and jackets and tight pants and Stiles still isn't sure whether Lydia went to the closest, most expensive shop and just bought everything or not.

"So you do know you have to keep this a secret, right?" 

"Totally" She winks at him and leaves, her need for shopping happily satiated.

"So, that's about good, you look ready to face the elements and germs and everything this mean, evil world has to offer to a fragile kid like you" Stiles concludes as he puts the wool beret on Derek's head and pats him.

Derek looks suppressed, constipated and positively adorable.

"Stiles, I’m almost in my mid-twenties, you know."

"It could rain! You could get sick!" Stiles whines dramatically, why can't Derek let his dress-up-make-over-fantasy come true already?  
  
"I’m still a werewolf. I’m not defenseless, I’m just smaller."  
  
 "I’m not listening to any of this nonsense. You’re a cub, you don’t have your full powers at your disposal and I told Deaton I would take care of you. And I will, so stop glaring at me, Tiny Bad Wolf."

They leave with a wide smile plastered on Stiles' face and Derek pouting like the world hates him. Which Stiles concludes that it might, he notices how Derek keeps muttering to himself every now and then, how he stutters and how sometimes he tries to talk and everything comes out incomprehensible, the first time he did it, Stiles looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

But then Stiles remembered himself after his mother died, remembered how he used to be incapable of communicating with anyone, his voice always coming hoarse and stuttered like he was in a constant state of shock.

 

* * *

 

"Okay, I've searched a bit about your condition, it's an effect of a spell which was half-finished, but still hit you" Stiles begins, and he's afraid to continue. He stayed awake until four in the morning reading and skimming through every book about magic and its side effects there is. 

"And?" They're inside the van infront of Stiles' house and the clouds look dark, heavy and gloomy. The air around them is damp and chalky, Stiles figures it will soon start raining.

"Normally it shouldn't have any special effect on anyone but the caster itself. This time though,the spell's targets were both you and Isaac. Yet he was only knocked down and weakened while with you it worked completely differently. I couldn't put my fingers on why it affected you like that." Stiles inhales and continues. “Until I realized that maybe it isn't the spell's doing, but something about you."  
  
 "Something about me?" Derek presses. His hands are grabbing a fistful of his hair at the sides of his head and Stiles is sure Derek is not even aware of it.  
  
"Do you remember when you bit Jackson?"  
  
 "Yes." He frowns, uncomprehending.  
  
"There was nothing wrong with the bite; it affected all others normally like any other bite does, but there was something wrong with him, which made him react negatively.

"According to this Greek myth I found, everybody is made of four kinds of mystical liquids called humours. They reflect the psychological conditions of a person and they are usually in balance, however in both your and Jackson's case... one of the humours was much more dominant than the others, the one called the black bile."

"What does this black bile do?" Derek asks, still confused, a part of him afraid of the answer.

"It's known as the representation of melancholia, grief, sadness and it is a disposition induced when something is very wrong... with the person..." Stiles finishes in a whisper, his voice barely audible.

"What does this spell have to do with it?"   
  
 "The spell affected you because of your black bile, similarly to how the bite affected Jackson. As long as it is out of balance, in your case your body will keep trying to make everything it can to fix itself, including reverting to the age where all of your humours were in balance."  
  
 "So why isn't it working? Why aren't... these humours in balance now?"  
  
  "Because you're not in balance Derek. Now you might be more vulnerable, less capable of repressing everything, but you still have to deal with whatever is keeping you from becoming... normal. Your body and you being the alpha already provided all the aid they can to help you, but now it's up to you"

They remain silent for a while afterwards, and the only thing that breaks it is the roaring engine of Stiles' jeep when they drive off.

“Maybe you should let go. Move on, you know” Stiles says eventually, Derek is silent, his hands wrapped around himself and he's shaking involuntarily. They are driving to nowhere in particular, just wondering around aimlessly in the border of Beacon Hills, the fields and woods on each side are wonderful and the sweet scent of soil, musk and bees fill their lungs through the open window and leaves them dazed for a while.

"Can we go outside?" At first Stiles is about to start wailing, but Derek's voice is scratchy and sore, and when Stiles looks at him he notices that Derek is copiously sweating and his breathing is hitching, he stops the jeep and Derek is already out before he can blink, Stiles wonders if there is something wrong with his jeep, old-Derek certainly didn't mind making himself feel welcome in it.  
  
"Are you all-right?" He asks; dumb founded.

"Yes" It's one single monosyllable and Stiles doesn't need to be a werewolf to see through it. He notices how Derek's hands are clasped tightly against his chest, his gaze is distant and dull and he still hasn't once looked up from the ground.

They move into the fields and somewhere during the walk Stiles offers his hand for Derek to hold. Derek doesn't at first, eyes still fixed on the ground and hands still clutched to his chest, but slowly his hands do move closer.

When Derek does let Stiles hold his hand, Stiles smiles a little but remains nonchalant nonetheless, and Derek finally tears his gaze from the ground and looks up, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Source of Images : http://supernaturalwanderlust.tumblr.com/post/36085813539/derek-stiles-au-inspired-by-this-in-which-derek

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr:
> 
> http://hollowsedge.tumblr.com/
> 
> AU Prompt Source:
> 
> http://supernaturalwanderlust.tumblr.com/post/30391877931/sterek-au-a-witch-turns-derek-into-a-kid-derek


End file.
